The Leftovers

that with the high school volunteer office. That way, kids could get community service credit for doing something that actually needs to be done.”
    Several council members liked this idea, and Councilwoman Chen, chair of the Education Committee, agreed to follow up with the high school.
    Things got a little more heated when the next speaker—an intense young man with deep-set eyes and a patchy beard—took the floor. He identified himself as the chef/owner of a recently opened vegan restaurant called Purity Café, and said he wanted to go on record protesting the unfair grade his establishment had received from the Health Inspector.
    “It’s ridiculous,” he said. “Purity Café is spotless. We don’t handle meat, eggs, or dairy, which are the main sources of food-borne illnesses. Everything we serve is fresh and lovingly prepared in a brand-new, state-of-the-art kitchen. But we get a B and Chicken Quick gets an A? Chicken Quick? Are you kidding me? You ever hear of salmonella? And Chumley’s Steakhouse? Really? Have you ever seen the kitchen at Chumley’s Steakhouse? Are you actually gonna look me in the eye and tell me it’s cleaner than the Purity Café? That’s a joke. Something doesn’t smell right, and you can bet it’s not the food in my restaurant.”
    Kevin wasn’t crazy about the chef’s condescending tone or his misguided decision to criticize his competitors—it definitely wasn’t the way to win friends and influence people in a small town—but he had to admit that a grade of A for Chicken Quick seemed a bit improbable. Laurie had made him stop going there years ago, after she found a coin-sized battery in a container of garlic sauce. When she brought it back to show the owner, he laughed and said, So that’s where it went.
    Bruce Hardin, Mapleton’s longtime health inspector, asked for permission to respond directly to the chef’s “reckless allegations.” Bruce was a hefty guy in his mid-fifties who had lost his wife in the Sudden Departure. He didn’t seem especially vain, but it was hard to account for the disconcerting contrast between his dark brown hair and his silver-gray mustache without factoring in a certain amount of L’Oreal for Men. Speaking with the bland authority of a veteran bureaucrat, he pointed out that his reports were a matter of public record and that they usually contained photographs documenting each cited violation. Anyone who wished to examine his report on the Purity Café or any other food purveyor was welcome to do so. He was confident that his work could withstand the strictest scrutiny. Then he turned and stared at the bearded chef.
    “I’ve served in this position for twenty-three years,” he said, with an audible tremor in his voice. “And this is the first time my integrity has ever been questioned.”
    Backtracking a bit, the chef insisted that he hadn’t questioned anyone’s integrity. Bruce said that wasn’t how it sounded to him, and that it was cowardly to try to deny it. Kevin intervened before things got out of hand, suggesting that it might be more constructive for the two of them to sit down in a calmer setting and have a forthright discussion about measures the Purity Café might take to improve its grade during the next inspection period. He added that he’d heard great things about the vegan restaurant and considered it a valuable addition to the town’s eclectic roster of eateries.
    “I’m not a vegetarian by any means,” he said, “but I’m looking forward to eating there soon. Maybe lunch next Wednesday?” He glanced at the council members. “Who wants to join me?”
    “You buying?” Councilman Reynaud quipped, drawing an appreciative chuckle from the crowd.
    Kevin checked his watch before calling on the next speaker. It was already a quarter to nine, and there were at least ten people with their hands in the air, including Daylight Savings Guy and the gentleman who never got his newspaper.
    “Wow,” he told them. “Looks like we’re just getting warmed up.”
    *   *   *
    FOR SOME reason, she was always a little surprised to find Kevin on her doorstep, even when she was expecting him. There was just something a little too normal and reassuring about the whole situation, a big, friendly man pressing a brown paper bag into her hands, the neck of a wine bottle poking out.
    “Sorry,” he told her. “The council meeting ran late. Everybody had to put their two cents in.”
    Nora opened the wine and he